


Unthinkable

by Annehiggins



Series: Season 4 Tags [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:52:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annehiggins/pseuds/Annehiggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode tag for 4.12, <em>Criss Angel Is a Douchebag,</em> but gives no details of the actual episode beyond those last 30 or so seconds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unthinkable

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to Live Journal January 25, 2009 with the following note: Dean was exceptionally beautiful in this one. I mean he's always beautiful, but some episodes the hair and the clothes and the acting all come together in an oh, my sort of candyfest for the eye.
> 
> But as the car drove off, I sort of expected Cas to step out of the shadows. When he didn't, this is what flashed through my mind.

  
**Unthinkable**  
By Anne Higgins

Hidden in the depths of the black shadows blanketing the alley, Dean Winchester watched his brother open the car door. In the brief flash of light before he closed the door behind him, Dean could see the driver. Ruby. Of course he'd known she was who Sam had headed off to meet as soon as he said he was going for a walk. More lies while Dean had nearly choked to death on truth for weeks.

For a few moments nothing happened, then the car drove away, leaving him standing there with no way of knowing when or if his brother would return. In that moment, standing there in a stinking alley in a shithole of a town, it hit Dean. Too horrible to stay hidden in the silence of his mind, he whispered it, "I have to kill my brother."

Saying it, hearing it, robbed him of his strength and he dropped to his knees, unconcerned by what sort of filth might cover the asphalt beneath him. A sob ripped through him and an even greater truth ripped through him. "I can't." A whisper not loud enough to erase the horror of his earlier words, he lifted his head and shouted to the heavens, "I can't!" Not even to save every single living soul on Earth.

He felt the hot flow of tears on his cheeks. More tears. Seemed his life had boiled down to nothing but blood and tears. Was that why he had lost Sam? Had he told too many truths? Revealed himself to be a monster and left Sam unimpressed by the tears marking the words? He'd been so afraid Lilith or one of her minions would use the truth against him that he'd finally broken and told Sam. Better him in a calm moment than a demon in the middle of some fucking crisis. Right? But Sam had lost faith in him, had seen through the tears and broken words to discover a thing worse than any they'd ever fought. Not someone to trust, not someone to look to for salvation. Just another monster.

One job. One job in all his life – keep Sam safe – and he'd failed. Failed so completely that the only way to save the whole fucking world was to kill his baby brother. "I can't." Broken words to match his insides. Couldn't save him. Couldn't kill him. Couldn't do anything.

He lifted his head again. Too much glare even from crap streetlights to see the stars, but up was up. So he stared into the dark glare above him and said something almost as unthinkable as the first he'd spoken here. "Send me back." No taunt. No bravado in the face of threat. Just a heartfelt prayer. "I can't, I won't do it. Send me back."

His head dropped, chin pressing against his chest. A second later a pair of sensible shoes appeared in front of him. Dean almost laughed. It figured that in all the prayers he'd ever tried _this_ would be the one God finally answered. He lifted his head again, gaze moving from the shoes, up through the holy tax accountant garb to the face of his angel.

Castiel looked down at him, his face impassive, but even in the murky light Dean could see the sorrow in his eyes. He felt a pang at that. He'd never managed to do anything but cause his angel pain. Time for that to end as well. "I'm ready."

"I am not here to return you to Hell."

Dean closed his eyes. Of course, not even this could be easy. All he wanted was oblivion – to not think, or feel or even know. He'd settle for the Pit, but apparently he had to fight for damnation. "I can't kill my brother."

"I know."

"I won't let you kill him either."

"I know that as well."

"So mission screwed, heavenly plan thwarted, failure all around. Better luck next time. Now, do it and get it over with."

"No."

Fine. If God and his minions wouldn't do it, Dean would. He pulled his gun from the waistband of his jeans, thumbing the safety off and tilting his head back as he brought the muzzle up toward the soft flesh at the top of his neck. Kill shot guaranteed. Hardly ever moved faster, but Castiel's hand closed around his wrist before he even got close to the target.

His hand went numb from the vice-like grip holding him, then pulling him up to his feet. "You will not die this night, Dean Winchester," he said, squeezing even harder.

Dean lost his grip and the gun tumbled to the ground. A small part of his mind noticed it didn’t go off. Some sort of angel mojo or stupid luck or both. Despair flooded through Dean. He couldn't do what had to be done, but he couldn’t escape the price of refusal either. He would have to watch the bodies fall, the world burn and know he had failed yet again. Hell on Earth. For him. For everyone. Because he couldn't do what fucking God wanted. Because, even worse, he couldn't keep a promise he'd made to Sam, couldn't stop Sam from becoming a monster just like his big brother. "Send me back." This time the words were closer to a whimper than a prayer.

"I will not."

Anger flared. "Damn it! It's where I belong!"

"No, you do not. In all of Hell, yours was the one soul that did not."

Sometimes Dean tried to cling to that. Tried to remember that those who had replaced him on the rack, that those who he had so enjoyed torturing had lived wicked lives and he played nothing more than a bit part in the fate they'd earned. But he'd damned himself by making a deal to save someone he loved. So who was he to say that others hadn't chosen their routes to damnation for the same reason? "Cas, please."

Castiel shook his head, then pulled Dean close against him. "You would plead for me to return you to damnation using a nickname you gave me? God in Heaven, human, you will drive me mad one day," he murmured in Dean's ear as arms and wings enfolded him. "But a spirit such as yours shines far too brightly for the Pit."

"Sammy." The name was a sob, a plea, a curse, everything he'd fought and sacrificed for.

The embrace tightened. "You will save him. I don't know how. I don't what lies between now and then, but this I do know."

He wanted to believe. So much. But he was tired, and, in his own mind he could admit, terrified. "I promised him I wouldn't let him fall."

Castiel did not waver. "You will save him. It is God's will."

No comfort there. If God had a plan for the Winchesters, it had never been one any sane person would have wanted a part of. He did not trust in God, but Hell had destroyed his ability to trust in himself, too. "Help me."

Lips pressed against his forehead. "With all that I am and in any way I can; I swear it. We will save him."

In the end Dean knew he would have to face the final battle for Sam's soul alone. But for now, wrapped in an angel's warmth, he let himself believe. Let himself imagine a world where he and Sam kicked Lilith's ass, and Lucifer's, too, if need be. A world where he could trust in God and in his angel. And for the first time in his life, he let someone hold him as he cried.

end


End file.
